


Dreaming Your Dreams

by simplesetgo



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: F/F, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-20
Updated: 2011-06-20
Packaged: 2017-10-20 14:06:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplesetgo/pseuds/simplesetgo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Seeker Porn Battle, prompt "behind closed doors".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreaming Your Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Tried something new with this one, style-wise.

In Aydindril there is a great set of doors that are locked at night. They are ornately carved; intricate figures engraved in rich wood: the doors leading to the private bedchambers of someone very important. If you press your ear to those carvings, to that cool, hard surface, after the door is latched and locked, you might hear things. Two women, two voices: one soft and a little shy but full of warmth, the other harsh and sure with fondness leaking around the edges. But soon the talking stops, or maybe just drops to whispers. So you wait and listen, and think maybe you can hear the rustle of bedsheets against the dead silence. Then after a bit more waiting it comes: that first feminine moan, almost too quiet to hear. That second voice lifts, murmurs things, and there’s an undeniable cockiness, a tease in her tone. She’s answered by another moan, this one unsteady and drawn out.

There’s a keyhole halfway down the door and if you kneel, it’s just wide enough to glimpse through; just wide enough to see that massive bed with white sheets of silk all lit by flickering firelight. You can’t see everything at once; you would have to be inside that room, with them, for that. Here you can see pieces of things, parts of a whole. Soft, full breasts, pale with tight peaks, rising and falling. A head tipped back, dark hair shining thick spilling over shoulders, and a mouth with parted lips under eyes fluttering shut. A tongue traces that lower lip, wetting it, and then it’s sucked between teeth, slowly dragged free with a soft groan.

There’s a shape under the covers, seemingly still as a stone, a bump between legs spread wide where someone is crouched down. If you close your eyes, listen hard, you might be able to hear a sound, wet and unmistakable, like someone devouring a particularly tasty fruit. But soon a hand reaches down under those covers, pulls up hard, and again, harder, until a body emerges, crawls up over the other, bronze skin over pale, pressed down right against it. Lips touch, and then again, a wet smack and you can see a jaw relax, a mouth open against the other; maybe you can see a flash of a tongue, shining wet, before lips seal together like a pact is being made. Like it’s life and death, the power of it all in their shared breath.

White blankets are up to their hips; you can see a back, tanned, with shoulderblades rising up, breasts hanging down, pushing down against ones that are heaving; heaving because the body above her is in motion. The strong curve of her ass under the blanket, moving, shifting, back and forth, and the woman under her sends hands questing south, stroking over bronze skin, down her spine, pushing down covers to grip her ass with all of her hands, urging, clutching, arm muscles flexing like she wants to pull the body above her closer somehow, any way she can. The covers shift, slipping back with their quickening movement and you can see thighs, strong, interlocked but not still, the muscles standing out. Skin is glistening, now, with just enough sweat to see, and the heat between their bodies has to be coming off in waves.

It’s reached a peak, that grinding, thrusting motion. There are no feelings, here, no talking, no wants. Only needs and a subtle violence. And they fit together, they give each other what they need, because the blonde shudders, neck straining suddenly, back curling, arching tight, and the woman beneath her keens, a feminine sound that’s half-wild with pleasure. Their mouths crash together and hips continue to roll for a bit, just long enough, and maybe a little longer yet. When she collapses down, rolling off to the side, maybe you can glimpse a wetness glistening on her thighs as she does, before she sits up, yanks on the covers, pulls them up to cover them both. A hand strokes through blonde hair as they lay together, chests rising and falling, regaining themselves, and talk in hushed whispers. Red lips, full and shining wet, curl slowly into a small smile, speaking of contentment, maybe of happiness.


End file.
